Note: Because no story is complete without its fair share of angst/hurt/comfort.
Warnings: Angst, possibly some ooc-ness.
Public Displays of Affection:
Life-threatening Hurdles
Tony didn't talk about it, didn't want to talk about it, but Steve was not a stupid man. He had been half asleep and in a lust haze before, so he forgave himself the moment of confusion. By the morning after, as he lounged in bed, wide awake while Tony continued to sleep like the dead, he understood. At least, he got part of it. Enough to know something interesting was happening.
Maybe it was a little devious, but he used this understanding with fanatic zeal.
It was the same reaction every time. No matter where they were, no matter what they were doing, Tony did the exact thing.
It did wonders for getting the man to sleep properly. And all it took was a hug. Well, a very specific embrace.
In hindsight, he probably should not have done it in front of Natasha and Bruce. He was rather certain Tony would be having words with him later. To be fair, he barely realized he was doing it. It had become such an ingrained habit, starting with only an arm around Tony as they sat to watch a movie one evening. By the end of the film, Tony had all but forgotten about the tablet he had been working on and rested against Steve's side, utterly sedate.
"What's wrong with Stark?" Natasha frowned, and Steve interpreted that twist of her lips as concern. She did not show much emotion, but he was getting used to figuring her out.
Bruce actually did a double take. Steve had no idea why they would be so concerned. He glanced down at Tony, taking in the half-mast eyelids and even breathing. If not for the fact that his eyes were partly open, Steve would have thought the man asleep. But his eyes tracked the voices, and he was watching Natasha now, as calm as he had ever been when facing the assassin.
"He looks drugged," Banner observed.
"Did you sedate Stark to get him to watch this movie?" Natasha sounded… proud. Steve grimaced.
"No one did anything to anyone," Steve assured them, even as their questions brought Tony back to the present. His sigh was soft and shallow, but he managed a low grunt of annoyance.
"You've trained Stark to be quiet," Natasha declared. "Is this something anyone can do?"
"You… stay away from me," Tony murmured, fingers fumbling to push Steve's hand off his chest. "Stop looking at me like that, Bruce."
"Sorry," Bruce didn't sound sorry at all. "I've just never seen you so still when you're not asleep."
Steve contemplated trying to settle Tony down again, but that would have been unkind. Tony was agitated and uneasy, and Steve knew that—were their positions reversed—he would have been uncomfortable with the taunting. So he let Tony shuffle away, pointedly ignoring the irritated mumbling.
"Is he okay?" Bruce asked after Tony had left the room.
"He's fine," Steve assured him.
"I would love to say your presence is just that calming for him, but your shouting match last week would suggest otherwise," Natasha observed. Steve tried not to wince. The arguing had become less frequent, but he and Tony still could have some pretty spectacular fights. It was usually trivial, and the resulting silence only lasted a day, but it was nothing he wanted to dwell upon. "Which means you did something. Share with the class."
"You're making a big deal of nothing," Steve replied, sternness leaking into his tone as he considered the potential dangers. He realized he had no idea if it was just him, or was it something that happened anytime someone pressed on the arc reactor like that? That seemed like pertinent information. "Tony is fine. No one did anything to him."
Except Steve had, and now he needed to make Tony talk about it.
Crud.
Steve had a remarkably difficult time locating Tony. He first thought to check the workshop, since that was where the engineer went when something was on his mind. Oddly, it was empty, which left Steve at a loss. It was barely nine, not even close to bedtime for Tony. That meant the bedroom was out (Steve checked anyway—both his and Tony's—just in case). Snacking wasn't really Tony's style (but again, Steve checked the kitchen).
Nearly half an hour of searching passed before Steve realized the utter ridiculousness of his endeavor. If Tony was still in the building there was one very easy way to find out.
"Jarvis, where's Tony?"
"Mr. Stark is on the penthouse suite balcony."
"Thank you."
He found the man just where Jarvis said he would be. The balcony was intimidatingly high, just a stone's throw from the top of the skyscraper, but it never bothered Steve. He had been up higher, and with fewer safety measures. Tony had built the place, had once been thrown through that very window, and yet he seemed perfectly serene, standing at the rail, staring out over the city.
"Hey," Steve announced his arrival even as he slid his arms around Tony's waist and pressed a kiss to his temple.
Tony grunted and looked at the tumbler in his hand. It was almost empty, but he made no move to finish the liquor in it.
"You left pretty abruptly."
"The movie was over," Tony replied, the mild tone all too telling. He was lying.
Steve sighed. He did not want to bring this up—knew Tony would despise it—but he could not let it rest. If it came back and bit them all in the ass, he would hate himself.
"I think we should discuss what's happened the other night, Tony," he said cautiously.
"Erectile dysfunction," Tony said immediately, flashing a rueful grin. "I'm getting old. It's bound to happen."
Steve snorted and rested his head against Tony's, enjoying the soft feel of hair against his cheek. More jokes and lies. Tony was uncomfortable with the topic at hand.
"As much as I enjoy seeing you so relaxed, I need to know if it's just me, or if it's what I'm doing that's causing that reaction," he said, determined to carry this through. "If this is something that could happen elsewhere—if someone else takes advantage—"
He cut off, wincing at the way Tony went rigid in his arms. When the man pulled away, Steve let him. There was a strange look in Tony's eyes, and it was not pleasant. It was… it was kind of horrible, and Steve was not sure what to make of it.
"You…" Tony stopped, strangling a moment on his own words. He took a breath and tried again, "When you… you did that thinking it was an involuntary biological response?"
Steve blinked, processing the words, not sure where he had gone wrong but knowing somehow that he had. Terribly so.
"You seemed so relaxed. I just thought…" He had no idea what he had thought. That he liked how docile Tony became when they were relaxing on his bed? That there was something so beyond intoxicating about that hazy way the other man looked at him when Steve held him close, their hands linked over the arc reactor? Yes and yes.
Those were not good enough reasons, he realized. Tony was looking at him, his eyes wide and dark and kind of frightening if he was being perfectly honest. This was not going to end well.
"Are you kidding me?" Tony hissed. His hand tightened on his glass, and Steve was tempted to take it, but this was a really bad time to get protective. Tony was breathing hard, and Steve had never seen that kind of fury directed toward him before. Not from Tony. "You…" And then the billionaire's voice lifted, the anger raging out. "I felt safe, Steve! I'd just had Magneto threaten to rip the all the metal out of my chest! And when you were there, and you… God, you moron! What the hell?"
Somewhere between the cringing and the wishing to be away from the yelling, Steve felt something warm bubble in his chest. His mind latched onto what Tony was saying, and it felt so good to hear that he could provide that kind of security for the man. He had felt so utterly useless that day, but to think Tony felt he could protect him with just his hand against the likes of Magneto's power was unbelievably heady.
"You do?" he asked, his voice embarrassingly small.
"I damn well don't now, you fucking prick!" It was a good thing Tony wasn't aiming that glass tumbler at Steve, because after that statement he was utterly rooted in place. The sound of the glass shattering against the wall behind him somewhere was enough to make him flinch but not nearly enough to make him move. "What did you think was happening? You thought you could push a button on my chest and make me shut up? Shut me down like some battery operated toy? Jesus—!"
Tony was walking away, and there was nothing Steve could do to stop it.
"Tony—"
"Go fuck yourself, Captain."
"I never meant—"
"Don't touch me!" Steve recoiled, burned horribly. It was not physical, and it wasn't his hand, but it hurt all the same. The door was on a soft hinge, catching and slowly closing when Tony stormed through and shoved it back. Steve might have felt better if it had slammed. As it was, he could only stare at Tony's retreating back and wonder how the hell he was going to fix this.
Perhaps ten minutes passed before everyone in the tower knew something was up. Steve liked to think he was subtle enough that he could have kept it under wraps until he straightened things out with Tony, but he suspected that was just wishful thinking. He was a terrible liar, and Bruce was like the human lie-detector. Well, he could always tell when Steve was lying anyway.
However, none of that was necessary. He moved slowly, making his way back down to the main living levels. (They each had a floor of their own, but there was a centralized kitchen and dining area, not to mention an entertainment room on their own level. Frequently the tenants of the tower convened here for lack of a better place to hang out.) He had just come down the stairs to the kitchen when he saw Clint had returned from wherever it was he had been. A date, supposedly, but Steve never really knew.
Natasha was there as well, holding Clint's head in place with one hand, her other hand pressing a towel to his face. It looked like she was trying to suffocate him, which was a bit alarming. However, her grip was not that strong, and both she and Clint looked up at him when he made a startled, questing noise.
Steve saw the blood then.
"What happened?" he blurted, immediately moving to check the damage. That looked like a lot of blood on the towel.
"Bloody nose," Natasha said bluntly. She pulled it away from Clint's face, grimaced when red drained rapidly from his nostrils, bloodying his lips and chin almost instantly, and pressed the towel gently back into place. "I don't think it's broken."
"Doesn't feel like it," Clint mumbled from behind the cloth.
"You've always been a bit of a bleeder," Natasha said fondly. She shot Steve a dark look. "It was bad timing. He made a bad joke and took an elbow to the face."
"Pretty impressive, actually," Clint remarked. "I didn't think Stark had it in him."
"Tony hit you?" Horrified as he was, Steve was not that surprised. Tony was not usually the type for violent outbursts, but that glass had flown earlier. Clint was not the most tactful person either. Steve did not even want to know what he had said to set Tony off.
"He made a comment about you two having a lovers' spat," Natasha declared, despite Steve's silent misgivings.
"You did, didn't you?" Clint groaned. "Damn it. Now I have to apologize."
"You didn't know," Natasha said mildly.
"That's not something to joke about anyway," Steve said, a little miffed even as he felt bad for the blood still flowing from Clint's nose. "Did you see which way he went?"
"His workshop. You know how he gets when he's agitated," Natasha remarked, digging through the freezer. She dumped some ice in a baggie and eased it into the towel. Cliff grunted and nodded, waving her off and holding it himself. "Bruce went to try to calm him down."
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Bruce came into the kitchen. Returning so quickly was not a good sign. He grimaced and rubbed at his forehead anxiously.
"He locked me out of the workshop," he told them.
That was alarming. Tony never locked Bruce out of his workshop. Everyone else, yes. Never Banner.
"This is about our teasing earlier," Bruce declared, not remotely dubious of that fact. "At least, it's part of it."
"I'll try to talk to him," Steve said dully. It had to be done, but he knew it was too soon. If Tony had locked Bruce out, there was no one who would get through those doors. Steve, Thor, and the Hulk would stand a chance, but Bruce was wrong about one thing. This was about trust, and Tony's lack of it in him. If anyone tried to physically break through the smart glass in Tony's lab, there would be no recovering from this argument. Steve had not known Tony that long—not really—but he knew that much.
Bruce caught up with him outside the elevator. Steve knew he must look horrible if Bruce was giving him that tight smile.
"It might be better if you let him cool down awhile," the scientist suggested. "He's… well Tony's not the type to hold a grudge. But if you catch him hot, you really don't stand a chance."
"I don't actually expect to get past the doors," Steve admitted.
"Leave it," Bruce caught his elbow and pulled him into the elevator, punching the button for his own labs. "We'll talk."
It was strange, Steve thought, how much of a person was in the space that meant the most to them. Both Tony and Bruce spent a great deal of time and energy in their respective workspaces. Somehow, Steve felt he could see each of them in the room. He would know exactly what kind of person they were, just by looking at the workshop or the lab.
Tony's workshop, for example, always looked like an explosion of ideas. It was a flurry of activity, always buzzing with life, day in and day out. It never slept and was pushing every limit of possibility. It was Tony in a collection of machines, computers, and mess.
Bruce's lab, on the other hand, was pristine. Each experiment was carefully organized, notes written in a strangely precise scrawl across notebooks lined up with the corners of the table. Some of the experiments were dangerous—deadly even—but all were kept under tight control.
Bruce pulled out a stool on wheels and shoved a desk chair in Steve's direction. Papers fluttered, two falling from a table, which Bruce ignored.
Because when Tony and Bruce meshed, a little of that control flew away. Some of the chaos was brought to heel. They worked so perfectly together.
So why the hell had Tony decided he wanted to date Steve and not Bruce?
"You don't control who you're in love with," Bruce said. Steve realized he spoken aloud. He turned the chair and sat across from Bruce, sagging and closing his eyes wearily.
"You think you can love someone you don't trust?" he asked, defeated.
"Of course," Bruce said wryly. "Who doesn't trust whom?"
Leave it to Banner to get straight to the heart of the matter. Steve grimaced.
"I… I screwed up, Bruce," he reluctantly admitted. "I don't know how to fix it."
"First, tell me what happened."
So he did. He told him about everything, not even flinching away from the explanation of his and Tony's near-sexual encounter. It had not really happened anyway. Steve told Bruce about the following nights, about dragging Tony out of his workshop, taking him to bed, resting a hand over the cool light of the reactor and watching the tension go out of his body.
"I didn't even know I was doing it," Steve said eventually, helplessly. "Until Natasha commented on it."
"That makes a great deal of sense, actually," Bruce wiped his glasses with a cloth and peered through them critically before settling them on his nose. "He likes to play it up, but he's as insecure as any of us."
"I think I just made him afraid of me," Steve admitted, feeling no small amount of fear himself at the mere thought. Bruce, on the other hand, just snorted softly. The man looked rueful when Steve shot him an incredulous look.
"Sorry. You're talking about the man who treats the other guy like he's just an overgrown toddler. I know. I've seen some of the footage."
"He trusts you not to hurt him," Steve said mournfully. Bruce knocked on the table, and Steve looked at him. The scientist was glaring at him, considering him like he thought Steve was an idiot with his head up his butt. Maybe he was.
"What this says to me is that Tony has little respect for his own physical wellbeing," Bruce said sternly. "If the other guy decides to go at him, it'll be fast. He'll die before he has time to think about it. You, on the other hand, are in a great position to hurt him."
"I wasn't trying—"
"Stop talking and listen. You're as bad as he is."
"Sorry."
That was the first time anyone had ever compared Steve to Tony. Bruce meant it in a negative respect (completely fond and totally exasperated), but Steve found it almost pleasant. That meant something, right?
"He's not stupid, Captain," Bruce smiled faintly. "When he cools down, he'll think about it and remember exactly who you are."
"His boyfriend?" Steve asked hopefully.
"Steve Rogers, Captain America," Bruce corrected. "Kind, gentle, proper—a good man."
"You think he'll just get over this," Steve was skeptical. Bruce had not been there when that glass had flown. Tony never got violent. Not as a knee-jerk reaction. Any violence was usually preceded by a frightening sense of calm, usually in battle, and usually completely premeditated. (That was probably something to be wary of, but Steve never was.)
"Oh, be prepared to do some groveling," Bruce offered a lopsided smile. "I never said he wouldn't make you work for it. I just think he'll figure out he doesn't have the whole story."
Steve sighed.
No one ever said being in a relationship was easy. And if normal relationships were challenging, one with Tony Stark was bound to be filled with life-threatening hurdles.
It was worse, somehow, than the time when Magneto had gotten his hands on Tony. Then, at least, Steve knew it had not been his fault. Not really. Then he had a plan, a timeframe, and an awareness that if he were to force his way into Tony's face, it would not end in bloodshed.
Perhaps he was exaggerating. Just because Tony had hit Clint in the face did not mean he would do the same for Steve.
Pepper came three days in. Steve did not see her when she arrived. He did not know what to do with himself lately, so he was out on a run. It was not until he came back that Bruce informed him.
"Miss Potts is down in the lab with him," Bruce said, handing him a glass of water as he came into the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready soon. Go clean up."
There was little point in defying Banner, so Steve wandered up to his room to shower and change. Fifteen minutes later, he had missed a second appearance by Miss Potts. She had emerged briefly, then disappeared again almost immediately, taking a plate of dinner down to her employer. This was good, at least. Steve had not seen Tony in three days. He had no idea if the man was eating.
"She say anything?" Steve asked, pathetically hopeful.
"No, but I might make myself scarce if I were you," Bruce said, thoughtfully spearing a cut of chicken. "She did not seem happy."
"I'm surprised he let her into the lab."
Steve knew Tony had dated Pepper for a while. He knew she had been working for Stark for a lot longer. What he did not know, was never capable of understanding, was the true depths of their relationship. While he had seen them in action, watched as Pepper moved in and through Tony's space with knowledge and patience, he never understood quite what it was about this woman that put Tony so at ease. Sometimes he was almost jealous of it.
Like now. Because not even Bruce could get into the lab, but Pepper—who no longer lived at the tower—could just walk in and make Tony eat.
"She's mad at me?" he asked when Bruce said nothing to his last observation.
"I don't pretend to understand those two. But she was upset, and I know I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of that."
Bruce was right. Pepper was intimidating as hell. Steve would rather face down Natasha in a fight than have to meet Pepper's eye when she was angry.
Such as it was, he was lurking in the next room when she came upstairs again.
"I'll be back in a couple days," he heard her say to Bruce over the clanking of dishes. Technically, since Bruce cooked, it was Steve's turn to do dishes. However, under the circumstances, Steve promised to do the dishes for the next two days. "He's sleeping now. Cheeseburgers and bourbon are probably the two best ways to get him out of that lab—but please try to keep him away from the alcohol."
"I'll do my best."
"I made him promise not to access the Iron Man armor while he's inebriated," Pepper said, like a parent listing off vital information for the babysitter. "Jarvis will monitor the blood alcohol levels and make the call, so you don't have to worry about that."
"Are you okay?" Bruce sounded concerned. Steve did not blame him. For all that Pepper tried to sound no nonsense, she also sounded agitated, near tears.
A sniff, and then, "I'm fine."
"You're a terrible liar." She really was. Even just listening (eavesdropping), Steve could tell.
"I know. Thank you, Bruce. Try not to kill him while he's being like this, okay?"
"I'll wait until he's feeling better."
Pepper gave a watery laugh.
"That's all I can ask."
Steve collapsed back on the couch, letting his sketchpad drop, all pretense of just minding his own business (no, I wasn't listening, I was just in this room drawing those curtains) gone. He was not usually one to lay around like a slug indulging in self-pity, but even he would have to admit that was exactly what he was doing. He did not try to pretend any differently when Bruce appeared beside the sofa, looking down at him.
"Happy now?" Bruce asked. It was a little mean of him to do so, and Steve cracked an eye to glare at him for it. He forgot, sometimes, that Bruce was not just a mild-mannered scientist when he wasn't a raging green Hulk. Bruce just hid his angry, mean side a little better.
"I am the world's biggest asshole," Steve declared.
"According to some, you're dating the world's biggest asshole," Bruce retorted. "Now go finish washing the pans. I've got a particle analysis waiting for me."
The next time he saw Tony, there was a giant robot octopus attacking the city. It rose out of the bay and stormed Manhattan like this wasn't Avenger's Central. Like they wouldn't find out and be there in five minutes.
The call came—Avengers Assemble!—and they were dressed and staring up at a fifteen-story tall machine with eight prehensile legs that took out small buildings when it turned.
Steve had never missed Thor so much in his life.
"What do you think, Cap?" Clint's voice came in over the radio. "Take out its legs?"
"We might have to," Steve glanced at Bruce, who was considering the machine with mild disinterest. "Hulk might be able to take out the main body—minimize casualties."
"Maybe. We should try to knock this thing back toward the water," Bruce said.
"Do it."
Bruce shrugged off his shirt, tossed it, and he was growing. It was never anything less than impressive to see the Hulk take over. Nor was it ever less heart-stopping when the big guy bellowed and launched himself into the air.
An arrow flew, hit a leg, and an explosion set the machine to staggering. Steve threw his shield, winced when it bounced off a leg without much effect. A slight sway, but the robot was moving again, and Hulk was beating at the upper body angrily, and it continued into the city with a moan of metal on metal.
"Any other ideas?" Natasha was probably watching the proceedings from a rooftop. Her skills did not include beating back a giant robot squid.
"I can separate the legs from the body."
It took a great deal of self-control not to flinch at the sound of Tony's voice. It was the first he had heard from the man in over a week.
He sounded so perfectly normal.
"Collateral damage might be kind of high. Anyone left in the buildings?"
"We cleared them out. Knock him down, cowboy," Clint encouraged.
Steve heard the whine of the repulsor thrusters an instant before Iron Man appeared high over his head. Red and gold hovered, considering, before aiming an arm at the machine.
"Hold on to your socks," Tony sounded a little wary. Steve watched, curious at the lasers shooting out at the monster. The next thing Tony said was very loud, and Steve realized he had dropped off the radio and was blasting audio at the machine—and at Hulk. "HULK! MOVE!"
The Hulk hesitated only for a moment before leaping off to an adjacent building. Just in time to avoid the massive beam of light that burst from Iron Man's chest plate.
Steve ducked, shield automatically coming up. That was something new. It seemed that Tony had not been idle in his time spent sequestered in his lab.
"What the hell was that?" Natasha sounded irritated.
"Cap, watch it!" Clint's sudden panic made Steve aware that he had been a little too focused on Tony's new attack. So focused that he missed the legs of the robot tumbling down like giant limp metal noodles.
Barely thinking, he flung the shield at the one headed straight for him, hoping to change its trajectory, and took off running.
It wasn't going to be enough. The leg probably weighed a couple tons. He was not going to survive that kind of blow.
Then he was airborne, gasping as the air was stolen from around him. He recognized the feel of metal arms around him an instant before Tony dumped him unceremoniously on the roof next to Clint. His fall was admittedly less than graceful, but he rolled to his feet almost immediately.
"Thank—" Steve got out before Tony was blasting away again, presumably to assist Hulk in the final decimation of the robot. "…you."
"Still not talking," Clint observed, unnecessarily in Steve's opinion. Nor did he really appreciate the friendly slap on the back. "Look on the bright side. He saved your life."
"Tony wouldn't have let one of us die if he could stop it," Steve said sourly. "He's not the type of man to do that."
Clint looked at him with a healthy dose of skepticism, and Steve faltered. Tony wouldn't let a man die… would he?
"Uh, you read his debriefing from Afghanistan, didn't you?" Clint asked warily.
"I read the file Fury gave me." Something he later understood to be only a brief overview. No thanks to that file, he had drawn some very unfortunate conclusions. After that, he had taken it upon himself to learn more about all of the Avengers. Tony, though, was as mercurial as a man could get. Just when Steve thought he understood the man, he realized he really didn't.
"Right," Clint nodded toward the roof access door. Steve trotted along beside him dutifully. The battle was over but for the cleanup now. "Okay, your boy's a killer. Not the premeditative kind, but I can say he's deliberately caused the deaths of at least half a dozen men. Those are just the confirmed deaths, but the number is probably way higher. So yeah, if he really hated you, he would have let that thing crush you."
Steve cringed a bit at the remark. It was unpleasant, but no more than thinking of the people he had killed. Or Natasha. Clint. The Hulk. All of them were killers in their own way. Steve didn't know much about Thor's history, but the man was a warrior on his own claim. No doubt he had killed in battle.
He thought it said something a little dark about all of them that he actually found Clint's words comforting.
TBC...